


Love Me Now (Forget The Past)

by DemonDean10



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Anthology Era, Daddy Kink, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lies, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Smut, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21775909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDean10/pseuds/DemonDean10
Summary: so because there's been so many paul travels to the past stories recently (and i love them all) i decided to write a john travels to the future fic.1964 john lennon falls down a rabbit hole and ends up at Friar Park in 1995, during the filming of the anthology series. who will he encounter in the future? and why can't he encounter himself?
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, John Lennon & Julian Lennon, John Lennon & Sean Lennon, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Stuart Sutcliffe, John Lennon/Yoko Ono
Comments: 86
Kudos: 164





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys. so i kinda want to take this fic to tell you all that i won't be updating until after New Years, but i will still be writing. the next time i update i want to update several things at once. so, patience. thanks.  
> hope you like this one. more is coming.

**1964 Kenwood**

John Lennon was contemplating the moon as he explored the grounds of his new home, Kenwood. It was a mansion he could have only dreamed of as a child. Cynthia loved it too, thought she was worried about how they would keep it clean. John had just shrugged and said something about a maid before going out to explore. 

The gardens were very structured and kept contained by stone paths and walls, but the few flowers that stood wild amongst the neatly cut grass made him grin. The light of the moonlight reflected off the clean cut stones and lit the path for his trek. The moon, reminded John of himself. Bright from afar and perhaps even beautiful, but cold and dull from up close. All he was good for was reflecting the talent from other stars. A bunch of gray dust full of craters that wouldn’t fade until the end of time. That was John. 

At least, that was John according to Paul. They’d had a row earlier, about the Lennon-McCartney name of all things. Paul was still upset about it and he’d ended the argument with a cry that he was all the talent and he didn’t need John to succeed. John’s already knew this, but he’d hope to never hear it. Least of all from Paul himself.

If John was the moon, Paul was the sun. A pure ball of heat and warmth that brought life to the world. John would do anything for him. John...loved him. Always had. But he’d ruined his chances in Paris years ago and now he had to live with it. He would remain the moon, a cold entity forced to stand in the glare of the sun for eternity, but never capable of touching it.

Such was his focus in his self pity that John did not notice the mysterious rabbit hole that made itself present before him. Before he knew it, he was falling through what could be called a well. 

Either the well was very deep, or he fell very slowly, for he had plenty of time as he went down to look about him, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, he tried to look down and make out what he was coming to , but it was too dark to see anything: then he looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and bookshelves: here and there he saw records and photographs hung upon pegs. 

Down, down, down. Would the fall ever come to an end? “I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by this time?” He said aloud. “I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the Earth. I wonder if I shall fall right through the Earth!”

Down, down, down, John Lennon fell when suddenly, thump! Thump! Down he came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.

John groaned and curled into himself. Unlike the Alice he’d been quoting, he  _ was _ hurt. The hole must have been enormous! How would he get out? But as he looked up, he was surprised to see that the ground appeared to be right above him. How did he fall for so long then? Another thing out of place was the bright blue sky he could see above him. It had been nighttime when he’d fallen. 

John claimed out of the hole and gaped as he looked around. This was not Kenwood. The gardens of this place went on for forever and when he spotted the mansion, it was clear that it was another house. Shit,  _ had _ he fallen through the Earth? No, it couldn’t be.

Maybe he had a concussion. He started walking in the direction of the house. “Cyn? Cynthia!”

There! He could hear the vague sound of music to his left, past a small convent of trees. He followed it and called out, “Hello? Hello!”

* * *

**1995 Friar Park**

Anthology. Beatles Anthology. That was the name of the project Paul, George, and Ringo were working on. And on that sunny day, they were sitting on a bench together talking about life and music, the cameras off and the crew gone for the day. It was peaceful, if not a bit forcibly relaxed. They didn’t want to argue, so they avoided any meaningful topic. Namely: John.

In the distance, they heard some odd cries.

Ringo heard them the clearest. “Did you hear that, lads?”

George continued playing his ukelele, “Probably a bird.” He ought to know, as this were his gardens.

But the drummer wasn’t satisfied and he stood up. “I’ll go see what it is.”

Paul looked at him blearily, his body tired and resting in the sunlight. “Alright.” He muttered disinterestedly and warned sarcastically, “Be careful.”

Ringo chuckled and walked away from his ex-band mates, seeking out the source of the cries. And indeed, he walked into George’s little forest and found a young tall man facing away from the drummer, calling out confused (and frightened) ‘Hello’s.

Shite, it had to be a fan. How had he gotten through security. “Excuse me! Lad, what are you doing here?”

The boy turned around with a jump and Ringo felt the world stop.

* * *

John panicked as he saw the old man go down. He ran to him and kneeled at his side. “Oí! Wake up, man!” He slapped his face a few times.

The man gasped awake and scrambled backwards with a shout as he spotted John above him. “Jo-John!?”

John stood up and scowled, “Do I know you?”

But the old man didn’t appear to be listening. “You can’t be real.” He muttered, shaking his head.

This offended the singer. “I think I’d know if I wasn’t.” There was something familiar about that voice, so familiar.

The man stood up, pinched himself, and walked up to John cautiously. 

Ringo’s eyes were wide behind his sunglasses. “This can’t be happening.”

Here was John! A young John with a head full of mop top hair, full cheeks, and wearing a striped t-shirt that Ringo had bought him at an airport shop nearly fifty years ago. His eyes were narrowed as they always were when he didn’t wear his glasses, and his nose was as pointed as ever. It had to be a trick.

Ringo had to know. “Who are you?” He asked desperately.

John eyed him with distrust. “Doctor Winston O’Boogie.”

Ringo growled and took the boy by the shoulders. “Your  _ real _ name!” He wasn’t in the mood for tricks.

John winced and his eyes widened in shock. “John Lennon...of the Beatles?” Maybe this madman was familiar with him! He stepped back and nodded his head, “Who are you, then?”

The man reached up and took hold of his glasses, “I, eh. Richard.” He took them off and looked up at the boy. “It’s me, Ringo.”

John felt all air leave his lungs. He’d recognize those kind, sad eyes anywhere. And that voice...of course, it was his friend’s. But how? Ringo didn’t look like this! This man certainly had the nose, but his hair was long and grey, with wrinkles all over his eyes. It had to be a trick.

Ringo wasn’t fully convinced yet either. He had to make absolutely sure. He stepped close and grabbed the man by the shoulders again. “Tell me something only John would know.” He demanded.

John blinked a few times, “I’m sorry-?“

“Do it!” Ringo screamed, desperation strong on his voice. Then he realized he knew exactly what to ask. “ _ That _ night in Hamburg, after the attack. What did I say to you?”

John was overcome by shock yet again. Only Ringo, Stuart, and himself knew about  _ that _ night. His eyes widened as he felt dizzy. “Ringo…?”

“ _ Tell me.”  _ Richard begged.

Almost distractedly, John spoke. “You said that it was worth it.” Then, quieter, “That our love was worth it.”

And there it was. The biggest secret of Beatles history. John Lennon and Stuart Sutcliffe had been a couple since the rainy day that counted one year since the death of Julia Lennon and Stuart had chased John through the rain, held him him his arms, and bestowed upon him a soft kiss. John had found peace in Stu, and Stu had found a muse.  But their kind of peace wasn’t always respected. Some old creeps had found them out in Hamburg, in the middle of the night. They’d held John against the alley wall and forced him to watch as they kicked Stuart to bits, helpless to fight back against the much stronger man. Ringo had arrived and scared them away with a knife, a Dingle glare, and the faint sound of police sirens in the background. He hadn’t judged John as he ran to his lover’s side and wept over him, but rather helped them back to the club to treat their wounds. John had never forgotten that.

And neither had Ringo. The now much older drummer gasped and his hands fell to John’s elbows. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

John’s gaze locked with his and he nodded incredulously. “Ringo?” He repeated, voice equally relieved and scared.

And Ringo couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He hugged John close and buried his face in the boy’s neck. A thousand questions formed in his mind but he pushed them away. All that mattered at the moment was that his brother was back.

* * *

“Lads! Paul and George!” Came Ringo’s voice from behind the bench.

Paul kept his eyes closed, letting George’s ukulele lull him into an almost sleep. “Yeah? Did you find the bird?” He chuckled quietly at himself.

“I found someone.” He answered, voice and footsteps closer.

George groaned, “Christ, did a fab sneak in-“ He and his ukelele broke off as he looked up when Ringo stood in front of him. 

Paul, concerned by the abrupt stop, opened his eyes and looked on the scene.

There was a silence.

Then, an angry murmur from Paul. “Ringo, what is this?”

The older man grinned madly, “It’s John!”

‘John’ looked at them with a frown, “Hello?” Could they be…?

George stood up slowly, jaw slack and eyes wide. “John?” He whispered. “How can you be here?”

John shrugged minutely, concerned by the apparent shock they all seemed to have at him simply ‘being here.’ “I don’t know, I fell into a ho-“

Paul stood up angrily and interrupted him, “Oh, shut up!”

The others jumped and Ringo gaped at him, “Paul!”

The bassist wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his upper arms. “Can’t you see?” He cried, “It’s obviously a fan with way too much money.” He turned to John, “Sick! Pretending to be John.” His voice cracked in the name.

John was getting riled up too by now. “Excuse you, I ain’t pretending  _ anything.” _

Ringo raised his arms to calm them down, “He knew something only John would know.”

George touched John lightly in the arm, “Are you spirit?”

John jumped away, “What? No!” Spirit???

Paul groaned at them, “He’s a crazed lunatic.”

“Those are the same thing.” John bit back.

“Quiet.” The (older?) man said to him with a stern finger. He turned to George and Ringo, “Believe what you want, but I won’t be part of this.” And he turned away, intending to go and pack up all his stuff. He couldn’t stay around for this.

John was left behind, angry and confused. As well as sad. Why wasn’t Paul happy to see him? Then again, why were George and Ringo  _ so _ happy to see him? He flinched as a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

It was George, who regarded him with wise eyes. “He’ll come around.” Then he looked down at his old friend’s dirty clothes. “You look like you need some clothes, and a bath.”

John simply nodded, not feeling up to making a silly joke.

George was almost disappointed, but he led John to the house with a small smile. His brother was back, and maybe George could finally get his forgiveness.

* * *

The door to Paul’s guest room was opened and Paul knew who stood there. “Still here then?” He scoffed.

The voice that answered him was perplexed, “Why are you so angry?”

At this, Paul turned with a fierce glare. “Because you’re pretending to be my John.” The fake had taken a shower, and was now wearing white of all colours. Those were George’s clothes, damn him.

“ _ Your _ John?” The fake raised an eyebrow.

Paul flinched and huffed, turning back to his suitcase.

John searched his brain. “Let me prove it to you. 1961, I took you to Paris for my birthday-“

“Yeah, everyone knows that.” Paul interrupted harshly. How dare this monster invoke their trip to support his case?

“Oh.” John looked down, then raised his eyes with a challenging glint in them. “Everyone knows about you kissing me, then do they?” He asked in a forcibly careless tone. 

Paul dropped the shirt he was holding. “...what?”

John walked close until he was right behind Paul. He carefully rested his hands on the foreign man’s waist. “You kissed me, remember? Right on my birthday night.”

Of course Paul remembered. He’d been slightly slammed but sober enough to be in control of his actions. John has been right in front of him, his glasses reflecting the light of the moon as they stood next to the Seine River, the Eiffel Tower being the only witness to his mad actions. He leaned over to kiss John in the middle of a tired sentence, choosing to stifle his fears for one moment. And that one moment had been wonderful, until John pushed him away with a shout. Paul, not knowing that John was already in a relationship with Stuart Sutcliffe, took it for a rejection of a relationship with  _ any _ man and laughed it off painfully, pretending to be drunker than he actually was. 

Current Paul turned around slowly, eyes cautious and reluctantly hopeful. “How could you- how do you know…?”

“Because it’s me, Macca. I’m John.” The foreign boy whispered back, “ _ Your _ John.”

Only John could call him Macca like that, equally teasing and fond. Paul’s eyes watered and his voice broke. “Oh my god…”

It wasn’t clear who initiated the hug, but they didn’t care. They held each other tight, full of gladness and confusion. They had their soulmate back, and it would be okay.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya  
> this chapter's sorta meh, but it advances the plot

John and Paul entered the kitchen with arms around each other, patting and caressing the other to convince themselves of the reality of their presence. 

The other two were sitting around the table, cups of tea in hand. 

Once they all had been given a cuppa, they sat in silence around the table.

Until John spoke up. “So where am I?” He asked. He was seated next to Paul, with George and Ringo in front of him. It was very odd, they all looked so old. Paul was still beautiful, but it was a mature beauty. 

The others hesitated and looked at each other.

John huffed, “What? You all reacted so odd to seeing me so where am I? Am I stuck in traffic? Busy with the kids? What year is this anyways?”

Ringo cleared his throat, “Nineteen Ninety-Five.”

John's eyes widened and he choked out, “Oh. Shit.” How old would that make him? How old would that make  _ Julian _ ?

Ringo patted him on the hand, “Yeah.”

Still, he had to know. “So where am I?”

There was a tense silence and John frowned. “Lads?”

George swallowed and opened his mouth, but Paul beat him to it.

“You’re in the hospital.”

John’s head snapped to him, “ _ What _ ?”

Paul nodded, avoiding the other men’s gazes. “You got into an accident a few years back, you’ve been in a coma ever since.”

John leaned back into his chair, “Oh.” 

George spoke up after a tense glare in Paul’s direction, “John...why do you think you’re here? I mean, you travelled in time!”

John shook his head, “I don’t know, I just fell through a hole in Kenwood.”

“What year are you from?” Ringo asked.

“Nineteen Sixty-Four.” John told them.

“Did something happen right before you came?” Paul questioned, “Something out of the ordinary?”

John looked into his cup, “Well I did, eh, have an argument with you.” He nodded in Paul’s direction and scoffed, “It got pretty ugly.”

Paul narrowed his eyes in thought but he couldn’t pinpoint the fight in his memories. “What about?”

“The order of Lennon-McCartney.” John shrugged.

Paul groaned. What a stupid thing to fight over, as was their custom. He’d wasted years fighting with John over stupid nonsense...maybe that’s why the universe had sent his partner to see him now. 

John’s voice was weak as he murmured, “You, you said you didn’t need me anymore.”

George and Ringo watched as Paul’s shameful gaze turned in the now younger man’s direction, a sigh of regret escaping him. 

Paul’s rough and aged hand touched John’s chin and gently raised his head to meet his eyes. “Johnny,” He murmured, “I  _ always _ needed you. And I always will.” Sadly, he found out too late.

And in that moment John looked incredibly young, because he  _ was _ young. They had all been too young and too stupid to value what they had. Not the band or the fame, but a family. Four brothers who would always need each other. 

* * *

John had excused himself to the loo and hadn’t come out yet. Meanwhile, George was pacing around the kitchen.

“A coma!? Honestly Paul, are you mad?” He yelled.

Paul has his head buried in his hands, “Telling him the truth wouldn’t be any better.”

Ringo watched as George pulled on his hair. “What if he wants to see- himself? What then?”

But Paul shook his head, “He won’t. Trust me.”

Ringo spoke up after a brief silence. “Do you think Yoko did this?”

Paul frowned at him, “What? Why would you think that?”

The older man shrugged a bit self consciously, “Well she’s into all that stuff, isn’t she? The mystic?”

The other two were quiet.  _ Had _ this been Yoko? 

George spoke up, “Best give her a call. Even if she didn’t do this, she has a right to know.”

Paul spoke before he thought. “Why? It’s not  _ her _ John, not yet.” He couldn’t help but be jealous. Selfishly, he wanted John to be focused on him.

George rolled his eyes but Ringo said in a kind tone, “She was his wife, Paul. She saw him get shot, we can’t keep him from her.” He raised his eyebrows, “Or Cynthia, for that matter.”

Paul frowned at this. It was getting too big too fast. He wanted John to be his secret, at least for now. He wanted to speak with his partner, his friend; just them. Why did he have to share him with so many people? All his life, he had to share John with Stuart, Cyn, Yoko...why couldn’t John belong to Paul for just a few days? Just a few, precious days…

* * *

They’d decided to call Yoko, after all, but Paul had left them to it and gone out in search of John. He hadn’t been in the loo, so Paul kept on looking. Finally, he found him outside next to a fountain; he was looking into the water.

Paul walked up to him and cleared his throat.

John jumped and sniffed, his hands coming up to wipe his face.

Oh. He’d been crying.

Paul put a hand on his shoulder and asked worryingly, “Johnny? What’s wrong?”

The now younger man scoffed, “What’s wrong?” He asked mockingly, “I’m thirty years into the future, my friends are old, I’m in the hospital, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back home!” He shook his head, “Why am I here, Macca? Why?”

“I don’t know, John.” Paul sighed quietly. He’d be so busy thinking about how happy he was to see his John again that he hadn’t thought about how John surely felt. It hurt him, for his friend to see him as an old man and it was a painful reminder that, even if this was Paul’s John, he wasn’t John’s Paul. 

John sniffled and leaned against the fountain’s edge, “I don’t suppose you have a cigarette?” 

Paul made a grimace, “Sorry, no.” But as he patted his pockets, he remembered he had some weed. He  _ always _ had weed. “Fancy some grass?”

John tilted his head, “Eh?”

Paul could have slapped himself. He probably hadn’t had weed yet. “Um, marijuana, that is.” 

John’s eyes widened and he chuckled wetly. “You smoke that?”

“So will you, soon.” Paul shot back.

John shook his head in disbelief, but then he seemed to consider it and accept it. “Fine, then. Give us one.”

Paul took his time rolling the joint, choosing to roll a thin one. He didn’t want John to get too crazy. He lit it and then offered it to a curious John.

John took a drag and his eyes widened. 

Paul looked on amusedly, “Well?”

John took another drag, “It’s good.”

His partner chuckled, “Oh, yeah.”

They took turns smoking it for a few moments, surrounded by silence.

But then John spoke up, “I, I’m sorry. For calling you old, that is.” He was avoiding Paul’s gaze.

Paul shook his head, “It’s fine, you’re right. I got old. No more cute Beatle, huh?” He chuckled, but it did pain him to admit it. For all his pretences, he did greatly value his looks and they were quickly fading away. He got old, and he got ugly.

But John interrupted his thought by shaking his head madly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Macca. You’re gorgeous!” He exclaimed.

Paul blinked and John gulped.

John stammered and turned red, “That is, I’m sure girls still throw themselves at you. And you’re not fat, so…” He groaned and turned away.

Paul found this endearing and grinned, flattered. “Ta, Johnny.”

“...you’re welcome.” Came the quiet reply. 

“Ready to head back in?” The older man asked.

He heard a distressed sigh in return and his heart went out to his friend.

“Yeah, let’s go.” John said and started walking back.

Paul put off the joint and followed behind.

* * *

John and Paul found the others in the sitting room, with George playing a calming tune on the ukulele and Ringo dozing. They perked you when they saw the pair.

“Everything alright, lads?” Ringo asked in a careful tone.

Paul nodded with a smile as John went to lie down on one of the sofas.

“We called her.” George said.

“Who?” Asked John.

Paul decided to tell him. “Yoko Ono. Your...wife.”

John frowned and he was quiet. The others let him think. Finally, he whispered, “Is Cyn dead?”

“No no no!” They all hurried to say.

John let out a relieved sigh and bowed his head. “She divorced me, then.”

Paul made a face, “Well, actually  _ you _ divorced  _ her _ .”

John didn’t seem entirely shocked by the news. “Huh.” He scratched his head, “What happened?”

“You met Yoko.” George said, a bit bluntly, “Fell madly in love.”

John rested his chin his his hands, “Must be some woman.” 

Paul bit his lip, “That she is.”

“She didn’t bring you here like we’d suspected.” Ringo explained, “But she does want to see you.”

At that, John looked more alarmed and so did Paul.

John shook his head, “But I don’t know her, why would she want to see me?”

Because she saw you get shot four times in the back, Ringo thought.

“Because she wants to help get you back to the sixties.” Was what he actually said. 

They all snapped their faces in George’s direction as the guitarist huffed out a laugh. “‘Back To The Sixties.’ That sounds like a movie title, doesn’t it?” He said.

John grinned, “Yes, it does rather.” He only hoped it had a happy ending. 

* * *

“Is she bringing Sean?” Paul asked. 

John has gone up to bed with some painkillers for his fall, while the older three kept on talking. 

“No,” Answered George, “Not yet. We explained to her that we told John he was in a coma and she thinks it might be too much for Sean. Besides, she wants to check for herself that it is him.”

“Can’t blame her for that.” Paul muttered. 

Richard spoke up, “She’s going to talk to her psychics and mystics before she comes here, said it might take a while. Told us to not let him leave.”

“I don’t think he wants to leave. He just wants to go home.” The bassist said. “He was crying earlier, I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

“We need to be there for him.” George said, “Until we find a way to send him back.”

There was a comfortable silence.

“It is nice to have him back though, isn’t it?” Ringo murmured.

It was a like a dam broke. 

“I missed him so much.” Paul whispered.

George blinked away tears from his eyes, “There’s so many things I want to say.”

“We mustn’t overwhelm him, lads.” Ringo told them. “We must be extremely careful, can’t reveal too much.”

Paul wanted to protest. He wanted to warn John about the things that were coming, about the Jesus comment and the Philippines and Brian’s death and Apple and Allen Klein ...So many things that had gone wrong in their lives. Why couldn’t he help John fix them?

Ringo seemed to know what he was thinking and said, “I know it’s easy to say that we should warn him about some stuff, but we don’t know the things that could change if we do. And how it might affect  _ us _ .   
  


George nodded slowly. “You’re right. We can’t take any chances.”

Any chances to make John’s life easier. Maybe they couldn’t tell him about big things, but surely some little things? Reassure him about his weight, about their love for him? 

Paul couldn’t let John doubt him again. Never Again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENT PLEASE


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of stuff happens on this one!!!!   
> i hope you like it.

Paul woke up to shy knocks on his door and he instantly knew who was outside. 

He was right; John stood there with his hair in disarray, a white shirt too big for him slipping off his shoulders and a pair of pajama pants with cars in them. Christ, was George trying to make John look like a kid? 

“Um, hey.” John whispered, his pale skin glimmering in the moonlight shown in by Paul’s window.

Paul, who’d wrapped his naked body in his favourite fluffy robe, leaned against the doorway. “Hey, couldn’t sleep?”

John looked down and then shook his head, “This is stupid, I should go back.” He started to turn away, “I’m sorry-“

But Paul grabbed him by the wrist firmly. “Stay.” He ordered softly.

John’s wide eyes stared at him.

Paul, possessed by his still half asleep mind, didn’t let go of his wrist. “What’s the matter?”

John looked down at Paul’s worn hand on his wrist, “I...the bed felt cold.” He said it as if it were a shameful admission, a painful string of words that would wound him for life.

Time passed with only the ticking of the clock to tell them so. Then the older man tugged at his partner’s wrist and nodded his head. “Come on in, then.”

John followed him with hesitant steps, embarrassed by the situation but needing a companion all the same. 

Paul didn’t remove his robe, and he laid down on the right side of the bed. He knew John preferred the left side.

John seemed to notice his choice and smiled softly as he laid down and wrapped himself up in the covers.

There was a silence. Then,

“Thank you.” John whispered.

“Always, Johnny.” Came the answer.

* * *

Paul felt incredibly comfortable when he woke up. There was something warm next to him, wrapped up in his arms. For a moment, he thought it was Martha but then he painfully remembered that Martha had been dead for years.

But then again, so had the actual being next to him. 

It was John. Paul was holding him against his chest, the man’s auburn hair tickling his neck. John was resting his hands against Paul’s chest, with their legs intertwined. 

And it seemed to excite Paul. He jumped away the moment he noticed exactly  _ how _ . 

He was hard! There he was, cuddled to his dead best friend, with an erection. He stilled as John moaned softly and turned upwards then relaxed again. Christ, he looked- NO.

Christ, what about Linda? His sweet Linda, his protector. She didn’t even know about the situation yet, Paul hadn’t the strength to tell her. 

How could he let John inside his bed? Had he learned nothing from Paris? What was wrong with Paul? Had John woken up, it would have ruined any chance of... making amends. He’d be horrified, Paul knew it. 

He ran into the bathroom attached to his room and turned on the shower. Then Paul looked in the mirror and sighed. More wrinkles appeared everyday, along with grey hairs and aches. He’d long lost his pretty face. John  _ should  _ be horrified at him, he was a shell of his former self. No wonder John was so tense, he was surrounded by bleak versions of his friends.

John had woken up by the time Paul came out of the loo and was sitting up in bed, looking no less exhausted than the night before. Still, he offered a shy smile. 

“Hi.” He murmured.

“Hi.” Paul answered him numbly, looking at the ground. 

Apparently it was the wrong thing to do as John deflated on the bed. He stood up, holding the bed sheet up to his chest in a rather mincing manner. He too looked down, “I, sorry.”

Paul finally looked up. “What for?”

John just shook his head.

Paul bit his lip and sighed. “John,” He started, “I can’t imagine how disappointing this is for you. Here you are, surrounded by old, ugly men-“

“You’re not ugly, Macca.” John interrupted, brow furrowed.

“Still,” Paul kept going, not willing to linger on that thought. “ _ I’m  _ the one that’s sorry. We’re not the friends you had, we…” He closed his eyes. Paul had never really considered himself a failure, but as he thought of what he must look like in this John's eyes, he realized that he was. 

A hand on his cheek made him open his eyes. John stood before him, squinting at him and tilting his head. 

Paul cleared his throat, “Um, John?”

The younger man leaned closer and his breath caught. 

A few minutes passed with John staring at him intently, until he finally rested his other hand on Paul’s other cheek. 

“No.” Was the only thing he said. At Paul’s frown, he elaborated. “I’m not disappointed, Macca. Freaked out, sure. Worried, a bit. Shocked, absolutely. But disappointed? I could never be disappointed in you.” 

Paul sniffed and wrapped his arms around his friend.  _ I’ve missed you _ , he wanted to say. But instead he just held him close to himself. 

John burrowed his face in his friend’s neck, a bit confused. He and Paul never really hugged. He could count the times they’d hugged on one hand. One, after Julia died. Two, after he’d saved Paul from some creeps in Hamburg. Three, when I Want To Hold Your Hand took the top spot in America. Four, right now. There was a hesitation in their friendship, and it had increased after the Kiss. 

Paul finally moved away and smiled gratefully. “Want to shower?”

John nodded distractedly, “Yeah sure.”

“I’ll go find you some clothes, okay?” Paul started to walk away.

John watched him go with wishful eyes. Why couldn’t Paul see what John saw? 

Paul McCartney was perfect. 

* * *

George had asked the young man to accompany him in the garden after breakfast, which is how John found himself laughing madly as the guitarist attacked him with a hose. John has made fun of some of his gnomes and George, good naturally, was getting his revenge. 

John’s white shirt was practically see through and his long hair was sticking to his face and neck. He was running all over the large garden, but George was fast to keep up with him. 

George had missed John’s laugh. It was loud and crazy, like an evil villain and a carefree child mixed together. 

Eventually they both got tired and laid down on the wet grass, giggling like children. 

“We never did this, did we?” George asked quietly, eyes on the sky.

John turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’d you mean?” He wondered.

George sighed, a touch of sadness in it. “Hang out like this, just the two of us. We never did things without the others. You and I, we weren’t close.”

John was quiet for some moments. Then, looking at a caterpillar resting on a wild flower, whispered, “You’ve always been my little brother.” 

George turned to look at him, surprised, but the (older) man avoided his gaze.

“I like being the one you look up to. I like encouraging you to do mad things. I like playing with ye.” Finally, a bit embarrassed, he turned to look at George. “I love ye, Georgie. And I  _ am _ sorry, y’know. If I never said it. Or will never say it.” He closed his eyes, “I know I’m distant, to you and the lads, to Cyn...to my son. There are times when I just fade out, y’know? It’s like I’m watching a picture of my life, with me body just acting in automatic.” His brow furrowed, “There’s something wrong with me, George.” He said. “I’ve been to a couple of doctors and they don’t understand.  _ I  _ don’t understand. ...I’m just broken- hmph!” 

George had launched himself at him and was now wrapped around him like a shaggy octopus. 

John froze. 

George buried his face on John’s neck. “Don’t say that.” He begged. “Don’t say that, Johnny.”

John hesitantly wrapped his arms around George. If he and Paul barely ever hugged, he and George even less. He couldn’t think of a single time they’d properly held each other. 

George, looking more like his twenty year old self than his fifty year old self, moved away slightly to speak clearly. “You’re my hero. You’ve always been.”

John sniffed and held him ever tighter. “Thank you.” He whispered wetly.

George had never felt more at peace. He’d left things terribly with his John, at least now this young man would know how George  _ really _ felt. 

* * *

Paul watched from one of the doorways to the garden as John and George hugged each other. Good. George deserve to have peace. Paul had been lucky to fix matters with John to some extent before he’d died, his friend hadn’t. 

Ringo appeared beside him, a cup of tea in hand. “Look at them,” He murmured gleefully. “I’ve not seen Georgie this happy in years.”

Paul hummed. Was this why John had been sent by the universe? For three old men to finally get peace? 

The other two started in their direction and Paul’s eyes widened as he saw that John had removed his jeans and was left in nothing but his transparent shirt and his briefs. The bassist licked his lips unconsciously.

“Let me get you some clothes, lad.” George said kindly and stepped into the house; Ringo followed.

John grinned sheepishly and shrugged at Paul. “Just a bit of fun, eh?”

The older man just stared at him unblinkingly. 

John tilted his head, “Macca?”

Paul startled and shook his head. “Sorry, I was just…” He shrugged.

John looked down for a moment, then bit his lip. “Admiring the view?” Seeing the man’s alarmed eyes, he hurried to add, “The garden, I mean.”

“Oh, oh!” Paul huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, George takes good care of it.”

John sighed and scratched his face. “Yes, he does.” And he walked past Paul. 

His partner stared after him, frazzled.

* * *

Paul was writing, of all things. The past few days had filled his head with thought and ideas that begged to be written down. He sat at George’s piano, a gift from some fellow musician, and tried to find the chords from his head. 

_ Did I ever...take you in my arms _

_ Look you, in the eye _

_ Tell you that I do. _

Did I, Johnny?

_ Did I ever open up my heart _

_ And let you look inside. _

I did, thought Paul. In Paris. 

_ Did I ever touch you on the cheek _

_ Say that you were mine...thank you for the smile. _

_ Did I ever knock upon your door  _

_ And try to get inside? _

Why didn’t I? Paul let out a sigh and moved his hands away from the piano. Oh Johnny, why didn’t I fight for you? Why had he given up after Paris?

“If I never did it, I was only waiting

For a better moment...

That didn’t come.”

Paul jumped at the sound of the new voice and turned around.

John was leaning against the doorway, dressed in a colourful dress shirt and flared jeans. He looked relaxed, he looked young, he looked beautiful.

“Who’s it for?” John asked, looking at Paul with hopeful eyes. 

The older man swallowed and looked down. There was no point in lying, not to his partner. “For you, Johnny.” He choked out.

John let out a wet sigh of relief and smiled softly. It was his Paul smile. Only Paul got that smile. 

At least, until Yoko arrived.

But Paul didn’t think about Yoko, not when John walked slowly in his direction, hands swinging by his side.

John went to stand between Paul’s spread legs, biting his lip as he looked down at the man.

Paul said nothing. He held his breath and waited for John to act. Cool hands rose to rest on his flushed cheeks and the bassist closed his eyes.

The kiss, when it came, was different than the one in Paris. It was gentler, less confident; John’s hands were shaking as they held onto Paul.

The older man responded eagerly but slowly. He didn’t wish to scare John so he waited a few seconds before moving his hands to grasp at his partner’s hips. 

John shifted closer and slipped on the smooth floor, causing him to fall into Paul’s lap. 

They giggled breathlessly, before they joined lips again, fiercer this time. 

The younger man wrapped his legs around Paul, thankful for his flexibility, and hummed as his partner sneaked a hand inside his borrowed shirt. 

Confident, John grinded his hips down as he knew Stuart had liked and grinned as Paul flung his head back with a moan.

“Ah, fuck…” Paul let out and ran his nails down the other man’s chest.

John gasped as his nipple was brushed against. 

Paul was aroused, god help him. He briefly thought about Linda and his children, about  _ his _ John- had he longed for this too? Then why had he rejected Paul? He’d missed out on this for thirty years, had hidden this part of him for thirty years...and John had wanted it too after all?

But before he could ask about it, even as distracted as he was he  _ needed _ to know, a shout from beyond the room made them jump.

“Foods ready, lads!” Came Ringo’s warm voice. “I convinced Geo to order pizza!” He sounded very proud.

“There’s also a salad, Rings.” Came the more quiet voice of their youngest member.

The partners grinned in amusement but looked at each other with slight disappointment. 

John leaned down to press a chaste kiss against Paul’s lips and moved to whisper in his ear. “Come to me room tonight, yeah?” He emphasised the request with a shy lick.

Paul nodded, a bit out of sorts. “Ye-yeah.”

John stood up happily and swiftly moved towards the door, fixing his hair and shirt as best he could. 

Paul started after him, practically drooling. Then he started laughing, a bit madly. The entire thing was incredible. And to think, he’d thought coming to Friar Park for the anthology would be a drag.

* * *

The door opened mere moments after Paul knocked. John stood there, flushed, covered in a sleep robe Paul was pretty sure belonged to Olivia.

“Hey.” John whispered, looking less confident than earlier. 

“Hey.” Paul whispered back. Then, deciding to take the lead, he took on of John’s beautiful hands and raised it up to bestow a kiss upon it.

John giggled at the gesture and looked down.

It was odd for Paul, to see John so shy. He’d usually make a funny face and say something witty in a campy voice, but instead he trembled and reddened bashfully.

Best to act then. “Can I come in?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

John stepped aside, his robe swishing as he moved. As soon as he’d closed the door, Paul crowded him against it, causing him to gasp.

John was nervous. He’d been with men before: Stu, Brian, strangers in the street...but this was Paul. He didn’t know what Paul liked, didn’t know if he could please Paul. Besides, this wasn’t the Paul he knew. This Paul was more experienced, wiser….hotter. This matured Paul made John squeal internally just with a look. But at the same time, he felt like an imposter. No doubt Paul had a relationship with his grown up self, what if John was just a replacement? What if-?

“Hey.” Paul interrupted gently, reaching up to frame the younger man’s face with his palms. “Everything okay?”

John swallowed and licked his lips. He had to ask. He had to know. Looking up bravely, he spoke, “Am I just a replacement?”

Paul frowned. 

“For your John, I mean. The one in a coma.” John stared at him with begging eyes. 

Paul thought for a moment. Was he? Maybe not a replacement for a hospitalized John, but certainly for a dead one. Then again, was this John not the John he had missed since 1968? He wasn’t a replacement, he was a memory. A memory Paul had and still loved. 

Mind made up, he smiled gently at the worried man. “John-luv, I don’t have an affair with you. The John in a coma, I mean.” He chuckled slightly. He briefly considered mentioning Linda, but it probably wasn’t the best time for that. “But seeing you…” He shook his head. “I can’t resist you, John. Not anymore. After Paris, I- I was scared. But not anymore.”

John exhaled in relief and bowed his head. He said, “I’m sorry about Paris. I just, I wasn’t ready.” Now wouldn’t be the correct time to mention his relationship with Stuart, best to wait. 

His partner waved him away. “Not to worry.” He said and licked his lips. “We have now.” 

John smirked up at him. He leaned close enough to feel the other man’s breath on his face and whispered huskily, “How about we stop talking, and you take me to bed?”

It worked. The older man growled and did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert Lenny face here*  
> Sorry folks, smut comes the next chapter. Gonna have to wait jijijiji 
> 
> please comment if you liked it


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yah a shortie but an update yayyyyyyyy  
> i hope you all like it  
> please comment if you did

Paul pushed down John into the bed, overcome by desire. This is what he’d been missing for decades, he’d always loved and wanted John- now he could have him. 

John bounced on the bed with a grin. He was nervous, of course. He loved his Paul and didn’t truly know this Paul, but he was sweet and handsome and  _ clearly interested. _ John needed a relief from all the stress of this situation and it came from a dominating looking dad-woah.  _ No _ . He would not call Paul  _ that _ , no matter how mature and experienced he looked _. _

Paul’s eyes ran over John’s figure. “You’re beautiful.” He whispered. He’d never held back from calling John beautiful, even to the public. And here he was, wide eyes staring up at Paul with desire and anticipation.

Stuart had said that once, but John had shook his head and waved him away. It wasn’t right for him to be called beautiful, it was a lie. But it felt different to hear this Paul say it, more honest. 

“What do you want to do?” The older man whispered.

John spoke without thinking, spreading his legs. “ _ Fuck me _ .”

Paul froze and shifted away slightly. “Woah.”

John’s eyes snapped open. Shit. Of course Paul didn’t know that John was very familiar with queer sex, and he surely wasn’t either . “I, I, I mean...maybe we could go slow?” 

Running a hand through his hair, Paul chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that might be best.” Then he looked down with tender eyes. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” 

Oh if only you knew, thought John. I could give you the best night of your life. 

Paul cleared his throat and tried to get back into a sexual mindset. He ran his hands down John’s sides, coming to a stop as he reached his thighs. John had always had great thighs. So soft and plump…

John jumped as he felt a mouth on his inner thigh, licking and nibbling at it. “Oh,  _ yes _ .”

Paul’s hand pressed down on his navel. “Don’t move.” He ordered and bit down.

John moaned. No one had ever done this before! He’d no idea that thighs were this sensitive.

Paul kept going at his task, thriving off the wanton and dirty sounds John made. 

John shoved his hands into Paul’s hair and pulled, relishing in the choked moan he got in return. 

Paul sat up with a grin and grabbed John’s hands from his hair. “Aren’t you eager, baby?”

John pushed himself up and smirked, “Oh, you have no idea.” He grabbed the lapels of Paul’s pajama shirt and ripped it open, laughing as buttons flew everywhere.

Paul chuckled deep in his chest, then gasped as John grabbed his biceps and flipped them over. 

Maybe Paul wouldn’t fuck him, but John knew many other ways to please men in bed. Mainly, his mouth. 

Paul groaned as John grasped his cock through his trousers, arching his back.

John smirked up at him and pulled the trousers down harshly, immediately moving down to lick a stripe down the erection. “Let me give you a treat, big boy.” He whispered.

And he got to work.

* * *

  
  


The next morning Paul awoke with a warm weight on his chest and as he blinked his eyes open, he was able to admire how the early sunlight caressed John’s auburn locks and made them appear like bright fire.

He still couldn’t quite believe the night before. He’s slept with John, literally and metaphorically. John had given him the best blowjob of his life and he’d drawn out sounds out of him he’d like to think no one ever had before. Paul didn’t believe that John had ever been with a man before, no matter the rumours(and his amazing head giving skills). It just wasn’t possible. 

Seeing as John wouldn’t probably wake up for another hour or three, the older man stood up and tried to find his clothes. His pajama shirt had lost almost all buttons and his trousers had a rip at the crotch from John’s nails. Damn, the boy was feisty.

Paul dressed as well as he could, took one last look at the sleeping lad, and left the room with a smile. He walked into the living room (one of the many the house had) and stood at the window. He felt truly good about himself for the first time in years. Of course Linda always tried to-

Linda! 

Shit, he’d completely forgotten about her! How could he forget about her? How could he cheat on her? With a man no less! He had to call her right away! He’d been focused on John for too long and ignored his wife. The woman he’d promised his life to. 

Paul ran to the phone and put in his house’s number, holding the receiver close to himself.

_ “Hello?” _

“Lin!” Paul exclaimed with a grin.

_ “Paul! I’m so glad to hear from you.”  _ She chastised.

Paul sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ve just been so busy with this whole anthology thing…”

_ “Oh, I know. Is everything okay with the boys?” _

“Yes, yes. We’re all great.” He chuckled despite himself, thinking about John.

_ “I’m glad to hear that.” _ Linda said.  _ “Well, listen, I hate to cut this short but I have to pick up James from a party- he stayed the night and y’know how people his age are-“ _

“Yes, yes. I understand.”

_ “We’ll talk later, okay? I’ll call you later today.” _

Paul smiled, “Okay, Linda.”

_ “I love you, baby.” _

“I love you too, darling.”

And just as he hung up the phone, the sound of glass smashing came from behind him. He turned with a shout and froze when he saw John in the doorway.

His hair was in disarray and Olivia’s robe was falling off his shoulder. The window behind him allowed the early morning light to shine upon his freckled skin and give him an enchanting glow. But it was ruined by his wounded expression and the shattered glass at his feet.

But then his expression hardened and Paul was reminded of why he’d always hated fighting with John. The man was merciless when he was hurt.

“Who was that,  _ Macca _ ?” The young man asked, crossing his arms.

Paul licked his lips a couple times. “Well, that was...y'know, that robe looks great on you!” He smiled and gestured at him.

John only scowled.

Paul sighed and went to sit in one of the sofas. “Okay, but before you freak out, I didn’t want to tell you earlier because I thought it might have been too big a shock.” He explained.

“Tell me what?” The boy demanded.

“I, I’m married, John.” Paul said, looking down at his hands. “I’ve been married for twenty years.”

John’s eyes widened and his arms fell limp to his side. “Wh-who?” Then he let out a horrified gasp. “Jane!?”

Paul couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, um, Linda. She...you don’t know her.”

“Obviously.” John growled. He turned around and started to leave but Paul hurried to stand up and grasp his arm.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything; I was just so happy to see you!” Paul exclaimed. “She’s my wife but you-“

“Are just your whore, clearly.” John sneered and ripped his arm away. “Y’know, I can’t believe this was actually happening- of course  _ you _ would never be actually queer!”

Paul frowned and crossed his arms. “What do you mean ‘ _ I _ ’ would never-  _ You _ were the one that refused me in Paris!”

John let out a mocking laugh and shook his head. “Only because  _ I  _ was dating  _ Stu _ !” He yelled.

Paul froze and he gaped at John. “Wha...what?” John had been with Stuart? The rumours were true? How could he have not known?

John smirked and crossed his arms. “That’s right. And not just Stu,  _ no. _ Brian too. And Bob Wooler that one time, and so many more.” 

Paul took a step back and swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He whispered. 

John scoffed at him, “Because you would have been so accepting?”

Paul was about to remind him of last night but John appeared to have read his mind.

“As if your younger self would have dared to do what we did last night!” John chuckled, almost sadly. “You could only kiss me when you were drunk!”

“Because I’m not a cocksucking poof like  _ you _ !” Paul screamed in his face.

John stepped away, a betrayed look crossing his face before a cold mask fell over it.

Paul slammed a hand against his mouth. “Oh, John, I’m-“

John pushed him to the side. “I’m leaving.” He said. “Don’t you dare try and stop me.”

Paul followed him with nervous steps. “John, you cannot leave- People  _ cannot  _ see you!” He cried out desperately.

They reached the bedroom and John opened the door. “You know what, Macca? I don’t give a shit.” And he slammed the door in Paul’s face.

The older man groaned and leaned against it. How could he have fucked up so badly? John would refuse to talk to him now. But as long as he was angry in his room, he couldn’t leave. Quickly, he grabbed an ornate chair from the hall and blocked the door, then ran towards where the Ringo and George were staying. 

He needed their help.

* * *

“We can’t help if you don’t tell us what you did.” Ringo complained, already getting a headache.

“He’s barely been here for a couple days and you’re already arguing?” George accused. “What the hell, Paul?”

The bassist sighed as they reached the corridor where John’s bedroom was. “It was my fault. He found out about Linda and didn’t take it well.”

George and Ringo shared a look. Wonder why that was? They thought sarcastically to themselves. John’s love for Paul had been obvious to pretty much everyone  _ but _ Paul. It had been truly sad to see that unrequited love bleed away with every year that passed.

They reached the blocked door and Paul knocked on it.

“John? Are you okay?” He asked.

There was no response.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what I said.” Paul said, avoiding his friends’ gaze. “I was being a hypocrite.”

Again, no response.

Paul stepped back with a sigh and Ringo took his place.

“Hey, John? It’s me. Rings.” He said. “For the record, I am totally on your side.”

Paul scowled at his back.

“Yeah, me too!” George added to the mix.

But John didn’t answer. 

The guitarist sighed and moved the chair. “We’re coming in whether you like it or not!” He warned.

Not a peep.

With one last look at his friends, George turned the handle and opened the door.

The room was empty.

Paul swore and ran into the bathroom, cursing again when he found it empty. “He’s gone.” He said.

Immediately, all three men ran out of the room.

* * *

John muttered nasty comments under his breath as he ran down the stairs. He’d crawled out of the window to the terrace below and was now nearing the main entrance of the mansion. 

Dressed in pajama pants, a t-shirt, and a long coat he’d found in a coat hanger, he opened the front door and ran out.

He’d barely covered some meters when a car appeared on the driveway and nearly ran him over.

“ _ Fuck _ !” He screeched and jumped away into the grass, falling on his ass.

The white car came to an abrupt stop and a small figure came out of the driver’s seat. 

The sun in his eyes, John squinted upwards as the figure, a woman with a white hat, stood before him. 

Her voice was soft as she spoke, “So, it’s true.”

John frowned as he stood up, dusting himself off. “Who are you, then?” He asked.

“My name is Yoko.” She said, “I am your wife.”

John fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did ya like it? DID YA
> 
> tell me in the comments lol  
> or come chat with me in tumblr at @fanficmoi  
> yay thanks

**Author's Note:**

> please comment.


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